


Race's Foolproof Guide To Flirting With The Hot Mechanic

by Withsoulsmadeofflames



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Bonding at denny's, Fluff, Like super mild but I just realised i should probably tag that, M/M, Mechanic Spot, Race has like 6 siblings, Race is a mess, Spot and Race are dorks, Spot is less put together than he lets on, Tragic(tm) backstory, also there's mild swearing i have no clue how ratings work? help, and i love them, its just fluff, jackcrutchiedavey, kath is in there for like 2 lines but she's in the tags just because, kinda? i wrote it with that intention, mechanic AU, mild swearing, pretty much no plot, sprace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withsoulsmadeofflames/pseuds/Withsoulsmadeofflames
Summary: Race has a knack for breaking cars, Spot is his 'whiz kid' mechanic and, well, when has Race ever been able to resist flirting with cute people?





	1. Hey Siri, google "I'm really gay help me hes really cute help"

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't realise that it has been so long since I last posted oops. I'm working on something bigger but it's going slow 'cause I'm bad at writing.  
> I helped out for like four days at a workshop and this is what came to me. And then it took like four weeks to write. As I mentioned before, I'm bad at writing  
> Anyway, thanks for reading in advance.  
> Hope you enjoy

Race had a knack for breaking cars.

His first one exploded. Literally. The engine exploded. While he was in it, too. BOOM. It caught on fire, they still don’t know how or why. Apart from a few minor injuries, he wasn’t hurt, but the car was utterly destroyed.

He crashed the second one while trying to avoid a crash. Yes, he saw the irony in that. The front was so messed up that his parents decided it wasn’t worth the money to fix, instead deciding to buy him a new one. Once again, he somehow escaped with only cuts and bruises.

By the third one, his parents decided that that was the final straw. They weren’t going to buy him another car. The funny thing was that they could afford to buy him a hundred cars, a hundred of the most expensive cars you could think of. But it was the principal, you see. He would have to pay for any repairs and if he needed a new one that was his responsibility.

Pretty much, it was a ploy to discourage him from doing stupid things and breaking his car any more.

This one (the fourth, now) wasn’t his fault. It broke down on the way to college and wouldn’t work. Before, he would’ve just taken it to the best mechanic he could find but he couldn’t afford that without his parent’s money.

So, he’d resorted to phoning the number of a garage that Jack had recommended a while ago because, according to Jack, “They have this real whiz kid. If he can't fix it, no one can. And they’re cheap!”

He didn’t know why he was listening to Jack; his number one rule was that he should never listen to Jack. But at this point, he didn’t have much of a choice.

The phone rang three times before they picked up and Race explained his situation, requesting that Spot Conlon came and stating that he was Jack Kelly’s friend.

Within half an hour, the ‘whiz kid’ (Jack’s words, not his) arrived and began quietly inspecting Race’s car. When he’d finished, he slammed the bonnet and sighed.

He wrung the rag in his hands and said, “I think it’s something to do with the gear box. I can’t tell until I get it out. I can fix it but I’ll have to take it back to the workshop.”

Race smiled despite the irritation that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. Of course it wouldn’t, not with Race involved. “How long will it take? And, more importantly, how much will it cost?”

Spot frowned, brushing his hair away from his face (which did nothing but smear something black over his forehead), “A month? I think I’ll need some new stuff and, if I do, it’ll be expensive.” His eyes flickered to the car, “Worth it for something like this.”

Once he’d hooked it up to his tow truck, they both got in. He was undeniably cute; short with feminine features and his overalls rolled up to the elbows to reveal muscular arms.

Spot noticed Race checking him out and raised an eyebrow. Race blushed (he never blushed, what was happening? It was just a cute boy) and looked away.

The trip began in a tense silence, which Race turned on the radio to mask. Spot focused on the road more than his passenger and Race’s gaze was directed pointedly everywhere that wasn’t the other member of the truck: the houses rushing past, his hands in his lap, the lines on the road blurring into nonexistence in the rearview mirror.

In what felt like longer than it really was, they’d reached their destination: a run-down car garage. Race watched as Spot checked his car, hoping he was being subtle. He let his eyes scan the other guy’s figure wherever he turned, contented enough with the view to wait patiently for Spot to reach a conclusion.

Eventually, the mechanic walked out, pausing at the doorway and raising an eyebrow to follow. They entered a cramped front room, where Spot began logging Race’s car into the system. “I think I was right, it’ll take a while to fix, can’t tell you how long yet but it’ll be pretty expensive.” He slid a piece of paper across the counter for Race to fill in his details. “You can leave your car here, just sign there. And we’ll need your number, there.”

Race leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter and flashing a winning smile, “Any chance I could get your number?”

Spot made a face, “You’ll have to try a little harder than that.”

“Dinner? I know this amazing Italian restaurant.”

Spot thought about it for a second, “I’ll pick you up Monday night? I get off work at five so six? I’ve already got your address.” A pause and a smirk. “And your car.”

Race laughed, “Sounds great. Monday at six then?”

“Monday at six.” Spot agreed, almost-kind-of-maybe-smiling.

As Race left, the spring in his step was noticable. His face was covered with a massive grin.

Once he was out of the door, Spot began definitely-smiling. Like an idiot, he thought.

Vince came in to find him still staring at the door. If he didn’t know Spot, he’d say he was blushing, “Who’s the hot Italian? And did I hear something about a date?”

Spot snapped out of it, “It’s nothing.”

“Oh really? It’s nothing?” Vince raised an eyebrow, “Then why are you blushing?”

Spot’s scowl deepened but he didn’t answer.

With a laugh, Vince shifted through the papers on the desk, “Kidding, Conlon.” Spot glared. “Besides, he’s cute. And definitely into you, you lucky bastard. He’s hot.”

Spot regained his composure, strutting to the door, “Vince, you have a girlfriend.”

He shrugged, “She’d understand too if she saw him. He could be a freakin’ model.”

Spot struggled to keep his cool as he set back to work on the car, marvelling at the luxury. He was charming, hot and rich. That kind of pissed Spot off but, when he recalled Race’s laugh, all was forgiven.

Race wasn’t doing so well at keeping his feelings in check.

He’d only managed to get around five minutes from the garage before collapsing onto a bench, a blushing mess. He was used to flirting with people, and pretty good at it too. It was just afterwards that he couldn’t deal with.

He’d always overthink everything and freak out. He dialed a familiar number on his phone and they picked up on the first ring. “Kath. I have good news and bad news.”

She sighed exasperatedly, “What’s the bad news, Race?”

“My car broke, but-”

“Race! Not again!”

“-The mechanic that is fixing is super cute and insanely attractive and I have a date with him on Monday. And we hardly talked but he’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

She was silent for a beat, “Race, you’re a sap, you know that, right?” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“I know, Kath. Trust me, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it.  
> Kudos and comments make my day, like, if you don't write you have no idea the buzz you get from nice comments.  
> My tumblr is @withsoulsmadeofflames, come say hi if you want.  
> I have no clue how to end this so bye, thanks for reading


	2. How To: First Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a roll of his eyes, Spot said, “May I have this dance?”
> 
> “You may.” 
> 
> They swayed together, shuffling around the clearing and, before they knew it, the song was finishing. Spot tried to spin Race but it failed and lead to them falling on top of each other. Race collapsed into giggles, while Spot lay on the grass with a stupid smile on his face as the final chords faded out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People liked it so I continued and I hope you like this chapter  
> This took a while because I wrote this and then rewrote the whole thing cause I hated the original, normal fancy dinner. Is this what being a writer feels like???  
> Anyway, I hope you like it thanks

Race knows what a good date looks like. He’s been on plenty of them before; the kind that follow all the rules, check all the boxes. The kind that, when you gush about them to your friends, you can safely say were  _ absolutely perfect, Jack _ .

Spot and Race’s date didn’t look like that;  _ absolutely perfect, Jack _ didn’t fit.

Spot arrived late, having already texted ahead to tell Race this (the actual phrasing had  _ ‘works a bitch im gonna be late sorry’).  _ Nevertheless, Race strode out of his apartment building with a smile and clambered onto the back of Spot’s motorbike.

He pulled on the extra helmet but the movement was so much less fluent than literally everything else Race did.

“You ever been on one of these before?” Spot taunted.

Race scowled indignantly, “What if I haven’t, Conlon?”

With a chuckle, Spot turned around, “Just hold on.” 

The ride there was simultaneously one of the most exhilarating and terrifying things Race had ever done.

He wished he’d looked cool and unfazed while doing it, like Spot, but in reality he was clinging to Spot for most the ride and his legs shaking by the time he disembarked.

It didn’t stop him from laughing when he got off, though, and walking with Spot to the desk where a waitress waited.

“Do you have a reservation, sir?”

Race turned to Spot, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn't make a reservation.” Spot deadpanned, “I didn’t even know the restaurant. I expect you to.”

Race turned back to the waitress with a pleasant smile. “It appears that I may have forgotten to book. Is it possible to get a table anyway?”

Only now did her smile falter, “Sorry but only if you don’t mind waiting an hour.”

“I think not. Shall we go outside?” Race looped his arm through Spot’s, who frowned and pulled away, brushing through the exit.

It was warm outside, warm enough for Race to unzip his leather jacket, “I’m so sorry. I just forgot. Where do you wanna go then? We could go find another fancy restaurant.”

“Or we could go to McDonalds. There’s one down the street.”

A broad grin spread over Race’s face. “Sounds perfect!”

They walked together, clad in suits, as Race chatted happily about his psychology course (he was minoring in it, he explained). A few other customers gave them weird looks but none of the employees batted an eye.

They ordered food and sat across from each other at one of the tables and only now did Race have the chance to actually look at Spot and-

_ Holy shit he looked good. _

His hair was still messed up from his helmet and he surveyed the restaurant with an unreadable expression (Race was jealous of this, it would be so useful for poker).

Race realised he was staring when Spot raised an eyebrow and coughed awkwardly, “You, uh, you look good.”

“Thanks,” Spot smiled, looking Race up and down. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Race laughed and began talking idly, asking all the first date questions, do you have any siblings? What do you do in your spare time?

Once they had their food, however, the proper conversation began. They talked about Race’s Italian roots and Spot’s job. They argued playfully about whether England should be pronounced In-gland, as it was (Spot’s opinion) or En-gland, as it was spelt (Race’s opinion).

People trickled in and out, although the place stayed fairly empty the whole time. They watched the customers pass through, taking their time to eat and stealing each other's fries for an unknown amount of time. Time didn’t really seem to exist here.

Eventually, they left, neither mentioning how little Spot ate or the large sum of money Race handed a homeless man sitting outside.

They walked in comfortable quiet to a nearby park, where Race lead them through winding paths through the trees.

“Promise I’m not an axe murderer leading you to your death.” He joked, earning a half-laugh from Spot.

They reached a clearing where they both lay in the grass, close but not enough to touch.

“So how’d you know Jack?” Race closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Spot shifted, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “We were in a foster home together - one of the ones for messed up kids who no one wants. We looked out for each other, even though he was an idiot. We kept in touch. You?”

Race began telling a story about the first time he met Jack, shortly after his family moved from Italy, when he was 7.

“My parents didn’t want me to be at a private school. They thought that’d mess up their kids too much. So, on my first day at school, I met the infamous Jack Kelly.” He went on to explain the trouble they’d gotten into together.

“Can we do those shitty first date questions?” Race asked, already googling them on his phone. “Ah, good ‘ole Buzzfeed.”

Spot rolled his eyes, sitting up to be level with the other. “They’ll be stupid, it’s Buzzfeed.”

Race looked offended, “I’m gonna ignore what you just said and give you another chance.” He started scrolling, “Blah, blah, blah, you were right, most of these are stupid. A-ha! ‘If you could have grown up in any other city, where would you have chosen?’” His gaze landed on Spot expectantly.

“What? I dunno, I’m pretty happy with Brooklyn.”

Race’s eyes grew wide, “You grew up in Brooklyn?”

“You couldn’t tell by the accent?”

“Shh, I’m bad at them. I always wanted to live in Manhattan. Now, one adjective to describe the other.”

“Annoying.” Spot said dryly.

“So, so salty.”

“Hey!” Spot shoved him jokingly. “Midget.”

“Idiot.”

“Prick."

“ _ Stronzo.” _

“The hell does that mean?”

Race smirked, content in his victory, “Ask no questions, get no lies.”

“Hey, tell me!”

He paused as if thinking, “Nah, don’t feel like it.” Spot huffed in defeat and Race laughed, “You’re pouting.”

After a moment, he picked up his phone again and soon music was playing from it. “There hasn’t been enough dancing in this date and this song is an absolute banger!”

He stood, joining in with the beginning of Come On Eileen and half dancing, half jumping around. When Spot didn’t join him, he sang directly to the still sulking boy.

He had a nice voice and hummed the tune when he didn’t know the lyrics and, when he was grinning like that, how could Spot say no? He begrudgingly stood, swaying and mumbling the words.

Race’s smile only widened and he belted the next part. “COME ON EILEEN TOO RYE AYE!”

Spot quickly loosened up, not singing or dancing quite as enthusiastically as Race but still getti ng into it.

The next song began, Mr. Blue Sky followed by Mr. Brightside followed by Stutter. At the start of each song, Race’s eyes glittered and he laughed joyfully, like it was a surprise (even though they both knew he’d queued them).

When Can’t Help Falling In Love With You came on, he gave Spot a look. “We can’t _not_ slowdance. It’s Elvis!”

With a roll of his eyes, Spot said “May I have this dance?” earning a grin from Race.

“You may.” He slid his arms around Spot’s neck, scowling at the realisation that he would  _ always  _ be the shorter one.

Spot smiled, looping his arms around Race. They were close,  _ very  _ close, and it took a while for the discomfort to subside.

Race sang quietly. His voice was hoarse and raw from all the shouting but nice anyway.

They swayed together, shuffling around the clearing and, before they knew it, the song was finishing. Spot tried to spin Race but it failed and lead to them falling on top of each other. Race collapsed into giggles, while Spot lay on the grass with a stupid smile on his face as the final chords faded out.

They quickly separated (the close proximity was nice but it was easy to see it made both of them uncomfortable) and relaxed in the grass, watching the clouds pass and listening to music.

After a while, Race checked his watch. “It’s almost nine. I should go home, my shift starts at eleven. I work at as a bartender, before you ask.”

Spot nodded, schooling his features back into their neutral expression. He didn’t think he’d ever smiled that much before. “It’ll take a while to walk back to my bike.”

The journey back was spent walking closer to each other than before, hands ‘accidentally’  brushing more than once.

By the time they arrived outside Race’s apartment, the sun was setting. Spot pulled off his helmet to say goodbye.

“Tonight was a lot of fun.” Race beamed at Spot’s nod and continued, “We should meet up again?”

“We should.” He paused, uncertain, for once his eyes not meeting Race’s. He looked so different when he was nervous and it immediately set Race on edge.

“Spot, is everything okay?”

“It’s just, you should know. I’m trans.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoed.

“What is this, the fault in our stars? Yeah, okay. What did you expect me to say? I’m an asexual homoromantic guy, did you expect me to be transphobic? Plus, Jack’s trans. Half my friends aren’t cis.”

Gratefully and sincerely, Spot smiled. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Spotty. Can I call you that? Please.” He huffed at Spot’s adamant no, “Wait, what’s your real name? You know mine.”

Spot smirked, “It wouldn’t be any fun if I told you, now, would it Anthony?” He laughed at Race’s pout. “Night, Higgins.”

“See you soon, Conlon.”

Within seconds, Spot was gone, speeding off and round a corner, but Race couldn’t get the image of him laughing, suit and hair messed up, face bathed in golden sunlight.

When he flopped down on top of Romeo and Jack on the couch of their apartment and the former asked how it went, he swallowed down the answer of  _ absolutely perfect, Jack. _

“It was… just… I don’t have any words.”  _ Real,  _ his brain scrambled for ways to describe it,  _ imperfect, yours, sincere, beautiful.  _ But nothing fit. 

“Absolutely perfect, Jack.” He said, even though the words didn’t fit, the way old clothes don’t. The phrase might not have had enough elbow room anymore but it was safe and smelt like home. “Incomparable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imma try and write more I'm invested in this now but there probably won't be much of a plot


	3. Jack Is A literal Five Year Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, as Race grinned and music blasted through the space, Spot learned to associate Race with music. With singing, with loud drum beats, with dancing with wild abandon, knowing that people will judge but not caring.
> 
> “Hey, I forgot to mention but Jack’s birthday is this weekend. He’s practically having a kid’s party. Like bouncy castles ‘n stuff. But with alcohol. Do you think you can come? Like, would you wanna?”
> 
> “Yeah, sure, Higgins. I’ll take any excuse for free beer.”
> 
> Race laughed and his smile was the most beautiful thing Spot had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote more, I'm not dead.  
> I'm genuinely surprised people are reading this. Thanks so much for your guys' support! It means a lot to me.  
> There's a newsies headcanons post that I got the idea for Jack's party from buy I really can't find it. If you can link it, comment or tell me @michael-mell-protection-squad on tumblr so I can credit properly  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy

Spot was desperately trying to not look at Race, which was kind of hard because he liked looking at Race. The aforementioned boy was sitting on the work surface (which he’d complained profusely about being  _ dirty _ ), watching Spot as he laboured over the car.

This was their first time seeing each other after their first date, although they talked continuously. Race arrived unannounced with a bouquet of roses one afternoon after Spot mentioned work in their texts. Vince raised his eyebrow to suppress a laugh and Spot glared in his direction as he led Race back into the garage.

Race was fiddling with a ratchet while Spot worked on the car’s engine. The former’s laughter filled the room, “Some people say it’s wrong to fill innocent farmyard animals with helium.”

“That sounds barbaric.” Spot muttered under his breath, trying to find the size the wrench he needed.

He didn’t stop but his voice wavered with laughter as he delivered the punchline, “But I say ‘Whatever floats your goat!’”

Spot rolled his eyes, “That one’s not even funny.” He said without looking away from his work. “Hey, have you seen the wrench. The size 10 one?”

“Yeah.” It was sitting next to him,“It is funny!” He protested as he handed Spot the tool, “C’mon, I’ve told you all the best jokes I know and you haven’t even smiled.”

“Maybe if you knew some better jokes.” Spot quipped, moving away from the car, “I’ll be back in a minute.  _ Don’t _ touch anything.” He left, walking the familiar path through the shop to his toolbox, checking on his boys - all working hard - as he went.

He grabbed a screwdriver from his meticulously ordered toolbox.

By the time he returned to his section, which ended up being a while because one of the apprentices needed a hand, Race was chatting with Vince.

Spot glared at both of them but Race didn’t end the conversation, instead smiling at Spot and continuing to talk. It was weird; most people stopped talking when Spot entered a room, especially if he glared.

It was unnerving but strangely nice to not have that.

“Hey, Vince, shouldn’t you be working?”

Vince smiled smugly, “I finished the Ford.”

“Then go check it in, idiot.”

Vince grumbled a complaint as he left, something about how he had to do all the work.

If he wasn’t Spot’s second in command and closest friend, he’d have punched him for that comment. Instead, he was let off with a warning glare.

“Vince was just telling me about your emo phase.”

Nevermind, he was going to punch him. Spot glared, speaking quietly, “If you mention that to anybody, I will slit your throat.”

Race held his hands up in surrender, still laughing, “Don’t worry, Spotty.”

If looks could kill, Race would be dead a hundred times. Then again, if looks could kill, most people Spot met would be dead.

“Knock knock.”

Spot busied himself with lifting the car and resolutely ignoring Race.

“C’mon Spooooot. Knock knock. You’re supposed to say ‘Who’s there?’”

“No.”

“Fine!” Race sulked at Spot. (Spot didn’t even know if it was possible to sulk  _ at  _ someone but Race seemed to manage it). “This place should have music. Look, you have speakers.”

He busied himself with connecting his phone to the speakers while Spot set back to work.

And, as Race grinned and music blasted through the space, Spot learned to associate Race with music. With singing, with loud drum beats, with dancing with wild abandon, knowing that people will judge but not caring.

After a while of dancing, which Spot had to use all of his self discipline to not watch, Race took his seat back on the worktop, mimicking what looked like drumming, but without drumsticks.

“Hey, I forgot to mention but Jack’s birthday is this weekend. He’s practically having a kid’s party. Like bouncy castles ‘n stuff. But with alcohol.” He quieted the music to a respectable level, so they could hear each other. “I’ll text you the details later - I can’t be bothered to think right now - but do you think you can come? Like, would you wanna?”

“Yeah, sure, Higgins. I’ll take any excuse for free beer.”

Race laughed and his smile was the most beautiful thing Spot had ever seen.

He scowled at this thought, internally cringing at how soppy that sounded. He pushed away thoughts of Race and tried to focus on the car.

Cars, he could do. Feelings? Not so much.

 

When Spot arrived to the party, he was immediately overwhelmed. 

It was in a park, with a couple bouncy castles setup and music played from the speakers. People were running around, acting like little kids even though most of them looked Spot’s age.

A boy younger than him with a bright smile and a limp approached him, “You look lost. You’re here for Jack’s party right?” 

“Yeah. I’m looking for Race.”

“Ah, so you’re Spot?” He paused, only continuing at Spot’s raised eyebrow, “Race has talked about you. A lot. Oh, I’m Crutchie by the way.” He said cheerfully, stretching out a hand.

Spot scowled (it was that or get flustered and he did  _ not  _ get flustered), “I’d guessed. Jack used to talk about you a lot.” Because it was probably the polite thing to do, he shook Crutchie’s hand, which was surpringly warm.

Crutchie beamed and pointed up to the top of one of the tall slide bouncy castles, “Race’s is up there.” Cupping his hands around his mouth, he hollered. “HEY, RACE, YOUR BOYFRIEND’S HERE!”

Spot tried to remain stoic as Race cheered and flung himself down the slide, landing on the floor in front of them.

The Italian boy smiled, “You actually came!”

“Not for you. For Jack.” Spot deadpanned.

Race’s face fell in mock sadness, “Spotty!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Spotty.”

“No.”

“Spotty.”

“Anthony.”

Race pouted.

Crutchie watched with amusement, “We should go see Jack.”

Jack wasn’t hard to find - you could probably hear him from a mile off.

“Hey, Cowboy, you turning five or what?”

“Conlon?”

He let a satisfied smile pass over his face at Jack’s confusion. “That’s me.”

Jack’s confusion gave way to joy. “Race! You didn’t tell me he was comin’.”

“Happy birthday, Jacky-boy.” Race said, “Now, I want to know the origin of ‘Cowboy’. Is it a thing about Jack’s obsession with Santa Fe?”

“Good to know he hasn’t changed.”

Jack flushed, “Hey, I  _ have  _ changed. I was like fifteen!”

“I recall having a video of you at seventeen going on one of your drunk rants about how the moon is bigger in Santa Fe.” Cruchie said with a wicked grin.

Jack spluttered in embarrassment and stalked away, Crutchie following behind with a bemused expression.

“I know this is kinda stupid.” He gestured vaguely around him suddenly looking sheepish, “But do you wanna go jump on a bouncy castle like we’re little kids again?”

Spot didn’t want to think about being a little kid again. “Sure, why not. Missed out on that part of my childhood, might as well catch up now.”

Race gave him a weird look but didn’t press it, instead grabbing Spot’s hand and pulling him towards one of the bouncy castles.

The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of messing around and introductions that Spot would never remember (not that he had any intention to even try).

It wasn’t until Les - someone’s little brother, the tall nerdy kid - left that the night got really interesting.

He didn’t drink much but some of the boys did, including Jack and Race. Cheap beer plus bouncy castles makes for a fun evening.

Some people stayed sober so nothing got too out of control but as evening faded into night, things got wild. His memories of the night were hazy and buzzing with excitement and adrenaline and alcohol.

Race was funny, he acted like a toddler and Spot remembered thinking that he looked  _ so pretty. _ He couldn’t remember if he’d said that much out loud. God, he hoped not.

They all messed around together until it got dark and then headed back to Jack, Romeo and Race’s apartment, where everyone slept in a massive pile on the floor. It wasn’t comfortable but Spot had spent nights in worse places.

He woke with the sun. He drifted out of unconsciousness - he’d learnt how to sleep and still be aware of what was happening a long time ago - as light hit his face. He was up mere minutes later, standing with a guy he recognised as Albert in the kitchen.

Albert offered him coffee and medicine for his hangover, which he gratefully accepted and declined, in that order, and they sat in silence around the small table.

“Do you really like Race?” Albert asked eventually. “Like, you’re not just doing it as a fling or anything. Because if you hurt him I will break your nose.”

Spot doubted that he could but understood the intention behind the words. “Yes.”

“Good.” He nodded resolutely, eyes on his drink, “‘Cause he’s my best friend. And he’s never talked about someone the way he talks about you. And you seem alright but I don’t want him getting hurt again.”

Spot wanted to ask about the “again”. His head hurt as his brain jumped to the worst possible situations. Instead, he took a sip from his coffee, trying not to grimace at the taste that he’d always disliked, “How do you know Race?”

“We lived near each other. Met as kids. We lived together for a while.” Albert said. “I’ve known Race a long time.”

They chatted for a while, until the others got up. Through this, Spot couldn’t shake the feeling of this being so  _ normal. _

Too normal.

He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not until Race dragged himself awake in the early hours of the afternoon.

He walked into the room and smiled, his hair sticking up in all directions and clothes messy but stunning all the same. He downed his first cup of coffee as Albert explained that all Race needed was a solid twelve hours of sleep and an unhealthy dose of caffeine and he was safe from hangovers; laughter and playful jealousy in his voice.

If this was normal, Spot could live with that. If this was normal, he’d soldier through the boredom and the underwhelming everything and the fists that itched to throw a punch.

Race sat down at the table. Only a few people were still there, most had already gone home. Before Race’s entrance, they’d been chatting.

He propped his feet up on Spot’s lap and shuffled a pack of card in his hands. “Who’s up for a game of poker?”

Everyone groaned but agreed to play and Race smiled as he dealt without looking, “So,  _ Cowboy-” _

Jack buried his head in his hands. “God, please don’t let that stick.”

“-How are you doing on this fine morning?”

His voice was muffled, “Shuddup, Race.” And he was obviously hungover.

As they started the game, Race grinned, obviously delighting in the attention, and observed his hand. “All in, bitches.”

“DAMNIT RACETRACK!”

“Not again.”

“Race it’s the first round you can't.”

“Why not?” He challenged.

Davey spluttered, “You just- you just don’t. You can’t just-” He cut himself off, burying his head into Crutchie’s chest.

Race laughed. And, this time, everyone joined in.

And in that moment they’re all just normal, not-so-messed-up kids playing a card game in the middle of a nondescript town in New York. They’re unremarkable, ordinary. And life is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading  
> Comments and kudos and bookmarks all make my day  
> Go check me out on tumblr at @michael-mell-protection-squad  
> I think there's only going to be one or two more chapters cause I don't want this to be too long  
> Thanks uhhh have a nice day idk how to write these


	4. Bonding at Denny's at 2am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘fight me at dennys at 2am’
> 
> Spots reply was almost immediate, ‘meet you in fifteen minutes’
> 
> \---
> 
> Aka. Spot and Race actually Talk About Their Problems at the most fitting setting I could imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha I should be packing instead of posting this but oh well.  
> This is late because if I was a sim unmotivated would be one of my personality traits and I get nothing done sorry for being unorganised and uninspired  
> Thanks for reading I hope you guys like this. I'm actually kinda proud of certain parts of this which is good!  
> Im also super tired and should be asleep.

Race didn’t like being up at two in the morning, especially when he had class the next day. But here he was, pacing back and forth in the kitchen of his apartment, after unsuccessfully trying to complete a multitude of different tasks, from video games to his homework.

He was restless and irritated and so, so tired (he’d hardly been sleeping) and just needed to be outside.

So, although Race didn’t know or care very much why Spot was up at 2am, he sent him a message that said  _ ‘fight me at dennys at 2am’ _ .

Spots reply was almost immediate,  _ ‘meet you in fifteen minutes’. _

And, so, when he drove into the Denny’s parking lot twenty minutes later (he was never on time), Spot was there waiting. They walked in tandem through the doors, to startle the employees there.

It was grimy, in the way only fast food places can be, and the staff looked like zombies. Race commented on how it was a wonder that it hadn’t closed and Spot quipped back that maybe they should meet up somewhere a little more classy next time. “You still owe me a fancy dinner at that Italian restaurant.”

“Of course, babe.” Race laughed and Spot rolled his eyes.

Race smiled pleasantly and ordered for the two of them, the dark circles underneath his eyes not undermining his charm.

“How do you do that?” Spot asked, absentmindedly rubbing his eyes, voice endlessly tired, once they were a safe distance away from the workers, the only other people in the restaurant.

Race couldn’t help but notice how Spot’s voice changed when he was tired (and, god, he was so tired). His accent, the one that he’d trained and honed to sound as threatening as possible, was different. Softer. Like all the distrust and paranoia was sapped from it.

“What?” Race pushed his hair away from his face, expression morphing into confusion. He never hid his emotions, unless he was playing poker. And, even then they were still abrasive and loud. Just fake.

“Dunno, like, you get people to like you. You do nice shit for people. You give massive tips and stop to help every homeless person we see and help everyone. And- and, you don’t expect anything back.” He huffed, looking so young and so thin but not regretful. “I don’t get it. What’s your angel?”

“I don’t have one?” Race said as though it was a question, sliding into a booth. “I- I’ve gone through some bad stuff. I know how hard it is. People being assholes makes it harder. So I, like, just try to be a good person. It doesn’t hurt to be kind.”

Spot scowled and Race could see his brain working to try and process this information. Neither broke the silence until their food came.

“Have you heard of Neil Conlon?”

Race nodded, his blood running cold at the implication. Of course he knew the infamous Neil Conlon. He was a murderer; the monster who killed his daughter and almost his son. The case was chilling, Race had read about it, even though it happened when he was a small child.

“My name’s Sean.” He wouldn’t meet Race’s gaze, instead pushing his food around his plate.

“Oh, my god, Spot. I-” He cut himself off, feeling sick. Instead of speaking, he moved around to the other side of the table so he was next to the other boy and wrapped his arms around him. Spot stiffened at the contact by reflex but quickly relaxed. He was shaking and felt so, so small in Race’s embrace.

“I moved in with my boyfriend at sixteen. Straight from my dad’s house. My dad wasn’t happy, he was kind of homophobic and just a bad parent in general.” His voice was as weak as Spot’s frame and his eyes, pricking with tears, were heavy. “When I was nineteen, he - my ex - he decided that he didn’t want me anymore. My dad told me that it wasn’t his problem, that maybe I should’ve thought about that before I moved out. I spent a while on the street.”

“Race.”

He swallowed to try and rid himself of the lump in his throat. “No, Spot, let me finish. I want to talk. It’s supposed to be healthy, right?” He laughed but it was fake and hollow. “So, uh, I lived on the street for a while. And then my biological mum found me. She’s amazing, I- I don’t know what I’d do without her. But. That’s not something you just get over.”

The italian shoveled pancake into his mouth, kind of wishing he’d never said anything.

Spot nodded, leaning his head into Race. He was silent. In the distance, a police car’s sirens wailed past in a loud crescendo before quieting again mere seconds later.

“Sorry.” Race’s voice was even quieter now, just a ghost of his usual tone, “I just haven’t really told anyone before. People were either there to see it or it was none of their damn business.”

The silence stretched out between them, lasting a million years. “It’s okay.”

They ate in silence, both reeling and trying to cope with what the other told them and neither sure what to say.

Trying to lighten the mood, Race made a joke, or some comment about how they were  _ actually  _ bonding in Denny’s at stupid-o’clock-in-the-morning. Neither laughed. It wasn’t really funny anyway. 

When they left, they stood outside, close, almost touching but not quite. And then, suddenly, they were.

And Spot’s lips were on Race’s and it was three in the morning and it was their first kiss and it was in the parking lot of bloody Denny’s. It certainly wasn’t perfect but, honestly, Race wouldn’t want it any other way.

A breathy laugh escaped Race as his hands tangled in Spot’s hair. After what felt like forever breathing hard and basking in the other’s company, they pulled away.

They walked hand in hand back to Race’s apartment, only so intimate because of the darkness shielding them from the rest of the world.

“Thank you for telling me.” Race’s voice was quiet, like he was scared he’d ruin the moment by being too loud, too abrasive.

Spot - unsure how to say everything in his head - ghosted his hands over Race’s face. He traced the way the street light illuminated Race’s face in yellow, casting harsh shadows under his cheeks and eyes. “Same.” He was never good with words and frowned in frustration. “No-”

“I understand.”

Once inside the apartment, Race told Spot about the time that he and Jack had written their names in weedkiller on the field. “You should see it, Spot, it’s still there!” His voice was barely above a whisper, still, but retained its usual speed and excitement.

Slowly, they migrated to Race’s room and lay together, peppering kisses over each other’s skin, giddy from a lack of sleep and the high of each other.

They don’t talk about how neither sleep. They don’t talk about the scars, now old and faded, that mark Spot’s skin. They don’t talk, because why would they?

It’s really not their style.

Spot leaned in the door, watching Race hum as he made pancakes, looking completely oblivious to the world.

When he noticed Spot lurking, he grinned brighter than the sun. “I thought I’d make us food. You’ve yet to experience pancakes à la Higgins.”

Something passed over Spot’s face that he would later deny being a smile and he settled down on the counter, content in watching Race cook.

“My step mom taught me how to cook.” His eyes didn’t leave the stove but his laughter was clear. “My father was a chef but mom was way better at it than him.”

At that moment, Jack emerged from his room and Romeo decided to join them from where he’d been lounging in front of the TV.

“Don’t let Spot cook.” Jack said, “The one time we were allowed to use the kitchen in the boy’s house, he set pasta on fire!”

Spot growled a warning with no malice and watched as Jack and Race tried to flip pancakes in increasingly ridiculous manners, resulting in the first batch of breakfast ending up on the ceiling.

Romeo glanced at the way that Spot looked at Race, his eyes uncharacteristically soft. And if Romeo had barged into Race’s room earlier that morning to find the two curled around each other, limbs looped and tangled together, both sleeping more peacefully than they had in weeks, he didn’t mention anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is @michael-mell-protection-squad so go scream at me about anything there Im super lonely  
> Hope you enjoyed  
> If you have anything you wanna see in this go tell me cause I have no clue what I'm doing


	5. Race Is Understandably Excited And Spot Is Anxious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the two boys sat in the hospital waiting room, Spot’s discomfort palpable, people bustled around them. Race was grinning, happier than either had seen him in their mere months of dating   
> Spot wished he could share in his boyfriend’s joy; instead, he was desperately trying to eradicate the words he’d drilled into his mind. Years of experience had taught him that people only come to hospitals to die.  
> No. He reminded himself, This is the opposite to death. Calm down.  
> “I’m gonna be an uncle!” Race ran his hand through his hair, messing it up even more as he paced. “Spot, an uncle! Uncle Race!”  
> “Jesus, Race, anyone would think that it’s your child being born.”

If there was one thing Race was good at, it was being a drama queen.

If there was one thing Spot was good at, it was putting up with Race’s bullshit (Spot’s words; Race prefered to call it  _ Totally Reasonable And Understandable Dramatics _ (because he was suffering, Spot!)).

As the two boys sat in the hospital waiting room, Spot’s discomfort palpable, people bustled around them. Race was grinning, happier than either had seen him in their mere months of dating (had it only been three months? It felt like so much longer).

Spot wished he could share in his boyfriend’s joy; instead, he was desperately trying to eradicate the words he’d drilled into his mind. Years of experience had taught him that people only come to hospitals to die.

_ No. _ He reminded himself,  _ This is the opposite to death. Calm down. _

“I’m gonna be an  _ uncle! _ ” Race ran his hand through his hair, messing it up even more as he paced. “Spot, an  _ uncle!  _ Uncle Race!”

“Jesus, Race, anyone would think that it’s your child being born.” He replied dryly, too preoccupied in his worry to think off a more creative comeback.

Race’s eyes glittered with silent laughter but his reply was lost as Jack raced in, Crutchie and Davey trailing behind seconds later.

“Race!”

“Jack!”

Raising his voice to just a little too loud, Race greeted his friends and rambled (half in Italian, as he did when he was nervous or excited. Spot suspected he was feeling a lot of both right now) until the doctor came to fetch him.

The doctor - an older man with cold eyes - regarded the group with distaste. As Race followed him down a corridor, his smile was so bright that Spot couldn’t look at it directly. He missed the sympathetic look that Race gave him.

The hospital seemed lonelier without Race. Jack was sitting in between Davey and Crutchie. He held Davey’s hand while Crutchie leaned on his other side. He kept eyeing Spot pityingly. Spot wanted him to stop.

Crutchie smiled warmly. “If you need to go outside, Spot, that’s fine.”

Spot shook his head and gripped the chair until his knuckles went white. The three boys across from him watched him with concerned eyes.

Time passed - although it felt weird in Spot’s panic - and the group were allowed to enter, though Crutchie and Davey opted to stay behind on the grounds that they weren’t particularly close to Race or his sister.

“It’d be way too crowded with us there anyway.” Crutchie’s smile was hard to disagree with and Jack’s protests died on his lips.

Inside the small room, Race’s family was huddle around the bed. Race’s older sister - Arianna - was lying in said bed, her smile dazzling if tired.

Both Jack and Spot were the only ones in the room not part of the family. It was easy to tell from the dark hair and kind faces they shared. Race’s mum smiled (they shared the same smile, the one Spot had come to know so well) and hugged both boys like they were her own children.

“What are you naming her?” Jack asked while Spot hung back.

“Luca.” Arianna smiled Race’s smile. “It means bringer of light.”

Spot couldn’t help but smile and the unfamiliar action felt strange. Race’s hand intertwined in his. They weren’t big on affection (translation: Spot wasn’t big on affection and Race respected that) but this Spot could get used to.

One of Race’s brothers, which one he didn’t know - there were three, ruffled Race’s hair and said, “We’re all uncles now.”

Race’s younger sister, Olivia, coughed intentionally and jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

“And aunts.”

They all gathered round for a photo. Jack smiled just right when Ms. Higgins invited him into the photo. Race dragged Spot in, insisting that he belonged there, through both his words and the arm he clasped around Spot’s shoulders.

Spot still felt like an intruder

It all felt so domestic and everyone was smiling.  _ This must be someone’s dream _ , he figured.  _ Not mine. But someone’s _ .

He’d seen Race cry before, when they watched Marley And Me together (Race had sobbed and Jack got a photo of it, which was regularly spammed in the groupchat). These were tears of happiness though and made his eyes glitter. 

His mum was crying as well but they had different eyes. Race’s were darker and more deep set. They made him look weary and cold. Spot could imagine Race’s dad with those eyes but no smile.

He only half listened to the siblings playful teasing of each other. Race beamed when he got to hold the tiny baby.

_ I’ll never be an uncle. _

He felt sick and refused to hold the child when Arianna offered.

After an hour, everyone but Race’s mum left to give Arianna space. Obviously tired, she’d stayed out of the conversation for the most part, only interjecting occasional remarks.

Once they were outside, Race laughed. “I’m an uncle! I have a neice! Ari’s had a baby and I’m an uncle!”

Because Spot had work, they drove over to his workshop. Spot watched Jack, Crutchie and David walk away hands linked in a daze. Still, he marvelled at Race’s car, which he’d returned months ago. He was proud of that fix; it hadn’t been easy.

Spot worked on his current car and Race sat on the worktop, buzzing with energy and chatting excitedly. Spot struggled to not watch him, as he always did, especially when Race began completing a Rubix cube practically without looking at it.

Vince came in after a while and Spot was in too good a mood to call his lack of productivity slacking. Race gloated about how he was _an_ _uncle_ now.

Spot noticed that his accent got stronger when he was excited (or drunk, but this hardly seemed like the time to bring that up) and now his words were heavily clouded with the Manhattan accent although random words were said with an Italian accent or occasionally straight out in Italian. Sometimes, he apologised but sometimes he didn’t even seem to realise.

Race showed him pictures, glowing with pride. When the family photo came up, Vince said, “Y’know, Conlon. No offense, of course, but they really show you and Jack up. Race, your family is beautiful. Have you thought about modelling?”

Race smirked like he’d heard this before. “Spot, might want to watch out. If this one carries on like this…”

“Vince, shaddup.” He chided. “And I don’t need to tell you you’re pretty, Higgins. You know. You don’t need that boost to your ego.”

Race rolled his eyes and continued amiably, “Hey, Vince, I like you. You wanna come to our weekly poker sessions that my friendship group hosts? You’d be so very welcome.”

Vince raised an eyebrow, “And get wiped out by you? No thanks.” At Race’s surprised look, he said, “What? That one,” He pointed an accusatory finger in Spot’s direction, “Talks about you.”

“Hey! I can hear you.” Spot growled without turning. “Now, shove off! Don’t you have work to do?”

Vince chuckled and headed out with a goodbye to Race.

Spot didn’t turn around at Race’s taunt, “You talk about me? What’re you, a schoolgirl gushing about her crush to her friends?”

Spot glowered at the car, turning slowly to face the other boy. His cheeks burned and he wouldn’t meet his boyfrined’s eyes, instead fixing his gaze on the cube that Race was messing up. It was kind of mesmerizing to watch Race’s fingers dance over the puzzle, completing the first side in seconds and only glancing down sporadically to assess the seemingly random moves he was doing.

“Shut up.”

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” 

Spot seethed.

With an apologetic smile, he disbanded the cube and strode forward to wrap his arms around Spot’s neck. When they kissed, Spot’s anger dissipated.

“I’m still not forgiving you.” He huffed, pouting.

“You sure?” Race smirked, leaning in again.

“Hey, Spot! Have you seen the-” Vince trailed off, spotting the two. “Ew. C’mon, not in the workplace, guys!”

Spot flipped him off and broke away long enough to say two words, the second word being ‘off’. You can fill the blank.

Vince left as quickly as possible and couldn’t find the wrench he needed. It was in Spot’s area and he reckoned he’d get slaughtered if he returned.

And, when the two left, if he didn’t warn Race about the black, handprint-shaped smudge on his jeans, well that was just payback.

  
  


Spot spent that night at Race’s apartment, as he so often did. Race was doing homework at his desk, while Spot tried to sleep; the panic at the hospital had tired him out.

When Race was done, he’d join his boyfriend in bed and, even asleep, Spot would reach out and curl into him. They both slept better this way, safe in the other’s embrace.

Spot was just drifting off when Race admitted defeat and climbed into bed. 

He tangled his legs through Spot’s and bent to kiss him goodnight. He knew that after his wreck of a childhood, Spot would appreciate the affection even though he’d never admit it.

“I love you.” Race hummed against Spot’s forehead. Immediately, he stiffened. They didn’t say that. Shit, shit, shit.

Similar panic was racing through Spot’s mind. Love? No, no, no. He couldn’t do love. Sean  Conlon didn’t do love. He didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t.

He kept his breathing even and eyes shut. He wished he’d learnt how to act asleep in different circumstances. Alas, he was very good at faking it from years of practice; Race would never know what he’d heard or not heard.

He could just ignore it and hope the problem sorted itself out. It was what he usually did, why not now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I actually really like how this chapter turned out. Please leave kudos and everything, I really appreciate them and sorry if I don't reply to comments I just don't know how to and feel super awkward.  
> I'm sorry this is so slow updating I just have 0 motivation and it takes me forever to write. Hope you liked it tho.


	6. Advice Not To Follow On Not-Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I told him he was doing too much work at school and he was gonna overwork himself. He told me maybe he wouldn't do so much work if I wasn't out fixing cars all the time."
> 
> Blink almost laughed with joy. He'd been trying to coax an answer from Spot all day. It took all his willpower not to laugh because he was fairly sure Spot would punch him if he did.
> 
> “That sounds like you're both just worried for each other?" He said cautiously, careful not to upset Spot any more.
> 
> Spot buried his face in the cushion he was curled around. "I'm not worried about that idiot. Not when he insults my work."
> 
> "Conlon, get your shit together."

Despite Race's persistence that they weren't having an argument, they were having an argument.

Now, arguments weren't uncommon for Spot and Race. They both were hot headed and enjoyed arguing over stupid little things. But, normally, they were just that: stupid and little, always about things that didn't matter, like Spot stealing Race's clothes and refusing to give them back.

"Spot, you're being overdramatic. You're just as bad as Race." Blink was thoroughly done. Spot had been moping at his apartment the whole day, sulking because he was pissed off at Race.

As far as Blink understood from texting Vince, who was gradually integrating into their friendship group, Spot had been sulking for the last few days and directly avoiding Race.

Blink didn’t even have his boyfriend to help him through this because Mush was out. He liked Spot - he was one of the only people that Spot seemed to actually enjoy - but sometimes he was infuriating. 

"Shut up, Blink, I  _ will _ punch you." He shut up; Spot had punched him before and it hurt. A lot. 

The TV blared in the background though neither of them were really watching it: Blink wasn’t paying attention and Spot had been pretending to watch it for hours to avoid conversation

Spot was, in fact, a huge nerd and had been appalled when he found out Blink hadn't seen Harry Potter. He'd managed to keep this fact hidden from Mush, who would probably break up with him on the spot (not permanently, of course. Probably less than five minutes later, he would come back apologising. Mush was too nice for his own good).

"You could just, you know, talk to him?" Blink offered, still kind of scared. "You're gonna have to at some point." 

Spot crossed his arms, resolutely not looking away from the TV. "Not if I stay here and you don't let him in."

"Spot." The one eyed boy chided, only half sure that Spot was joking. He was never really sure if Spot was joking but, hey, it was fun to gang up on other people and be mean together. "What is this even about?"

"I told him he was doing too much work at school and he was gonna overwork himself. He told me maybe he wouldn't do so much work if I wasn't out fixing cars all the time."

Blink almost laughed with joy. He'd been trying to coax an answer from him all day. It took all his willpower not to laugh because he was fairly sure Spot would punch him if he did.

“That sounds like you're both just worried for each other?" He said cautiously, careful not to upset Spot any more.

Spot buried his face in the cushion he was curled around. "I'm not worried about that idiot. Not when he insults my work."

"Conlon, get your shit together." He said exasperatedly, ignoring the glare Spot shot his way. "Just get over yourself and go talk to him. This is stupid - he didn't insult your work anyway."

"He did."

"Spot, you sound like a little child. Go talk to him!" Spot shook his head stubbornly. "Fine. But I'm not watching these films anymore. I'll finish them another day but I've been sitting here for hours."

"Video games?"

"Video games."

They sat together until Mush came home, playing every two player game in Blink's limited (the joys of being a broke millennial) game collection.

Blink was far better at the racing games and gloated obnoxiously every time he won, while Spot beat him at all the shooters.

When Mush arrived home from his long day at medical college - unsurprised to see Spot and Blink play fighting after a draw at one of the games - he joined them and wiped both out at Mario Kart. Blink sulked at losing the game he had earlier bragged about being so good at and Mush kissed him in apology.

"I used to play against Davey." Mush explained. "Never play against Davey. He's ridiculously good at it; he was on the world leaderboard for a while.

Blink pouted. "I'm never playing against you either now." Mush laughed and kissed him again and Spot decided that now was a good time to leave.

As he left, Mush mothered him ridiculously, insisting that he "couldn't just go out in a tshirt" and "needed a coat" and practically forcing one of Blink's hoodies onto him.

"Promise you'll talk to Race." Blink said as Spot left.

"I don't make promises I can't keep." He replied dryly.

It was that awkward time between Summer and Fall, where Mush was right and he really should be wearing a coat but wasn't. Even with Blink’s hoodie, which was so big it was so big it came down to his knees, it was cold.

If Race had been there, he'd nag Spot that he was gonna get ill. Spot would brush it off, insisting that he wasn't even cold when he was.

It was weird having people care about him.

He let his feet carry him to his flat and hovered outside of the building, watching the wind shuffle the browning leaves. He liked Fall. The beautiful shades of leaves, the early sunsets, the satisfying crunch of dead leaves under your boots. He could’ve stayed out there forever and just watched the world pass by. It was only the light drizzle of rain that began to fall that spurred him inside.

Once home, he collapsed onto his bed. It was still early afternoon so he had a bunch of time to kill.

His apartment was small and cramped. It had three bedrooms and not enough space for the five people that stayed there. It was a shared apartment for the workers in his workshop, housing the four people that didn’t have prior housing arrangements and one new addition, who was left without at home for one reason or another. It didn’t matter to Spot.

The rest of the house was out, all busy at work, but it was his day off which meant that he was alone. He trekked through the deserted living room and kitchen, noting how messy they were and that he’d need to remind the boys to tidy up after themselves, to his room.

The methodic patter of rain on his window gave the otherwise cold room a cosy feel and he curled up in his bed. He felt like shit and opted to waste the afternoon reading before going to the gym that evening.

Books had always felt like home.

He was sure that one of the stupid shrinks he'd been forced to go to as a child would tell him that the lack of physical spaces where he felt safe was the reason for him finding comfort in books and that they were some way for him to escape or some bullshit like that.

He didn't care. He just knew he liked them.

He'd never let anyone see him like this: buried under a pile of blankets, glasses on (he hated his glasses so he never wore them outside and just dealt with the headaches), eyes skimming the book he was curled around.

His room was plain, that was probably the best way to describe it. The ugly, pale cream walls were the same colour they had been when he moved in years ago and were devoid of any posters or decoration. A small desk was positioned under the window, with his non-matching bed and wardrobe crammed around it. The star feature was the wall bookshelf crowded with books in a disorderly mess wherever he could fit them. On top of his desk was his journal. His few clothes were neatly organised and his sheets were plain black.

The only decoration was in the form of the a polaroid photo that Crutchie had managed to get of him and Race. Race was smiling widely and had his arm slung around Spot's shoulders, who wasn't looking anywhere near as happy as his boyfriend but had a small smile on his lips.

He looked away from the picture of Race too quickly, instead focusing on what was happening in his book.

Just as he was getting comfortable, his phone buzzed obnoxiously. He picked up the call to Vince sounding stressed, "Spot, I know it's your day off." Spot almost groaned, "But there's been a breakdown. And we've got the two other cars in that need to done in a couple days. Could you help? We're super short on staff since Spoon's sick."

Begrudgingly, Spot packed up and left for the workshop. It was chaos there but not much more than usual. The stress was bearable because at least he was constantly busy and his ever-working hands left him no time to dwell on his thoughts.

By the time he got home, Spot was exhausted even though he'd only done a couple of hours of work. He pitied the guys who had had to stay on until the end of their shifts.

When he'd trudged up the flights of grimy stairs, he spotted Race sitting at the top, leaning against his door. His brain hurt. He just wanted to sleep.

"Spot." Race smiled. "I'm sorry."

Spot was ready to be angry. Being angry was easy. Sorry he couldn't do. He wasn't sure how to react.

"What?" He scowled.

"I'm sorry."

Spot stared blankly at Race for an uncomfortably long time before sighing. "Come inside."

He sluggishly opened the door and lead Race to his room. They sat in awkward silence side by side on Spot's small bed. Only hours before had Spot been lying perfectly contented there.

"I'm sorry." Race started, shattering the silence Spot had come to feel at home in.

"You should be." He replied bitterly, unwilling to let the argument go so quickly.

"Yeah." Race said, "Yeah, I kinda should, I guess." He looked at Spot expectantly.

"What?"

"I think that we both said bad stuff." He said, nudging Spot in the ribs. "Maybe you should say sorry too?"

Spot was too surprised at Race’s apology to reply with anything other than sarcasm and anger. "Y'know, Higgins, I don't think so."

"You don't?"

"No."

Sighing, Race lay back on the bed. Spot refused to do the same. "I am actually sorry, Spot. I've thought about it and I think you're right. I will try to slow down on the work."

“Really?”

“Spo-ot!” Race complained, drawing it out as if it was a two syllable word.

Spot conceded, “Fine. I‘m sorry.”

Race smiled, pulling Spot down so they were lying together. He enveloped Spot in his arms, his grin the same as the one in the polaroid.

Spot grumbled good naturedly and Race kissed his face in response. “I’ve missed you. I think I get to be affectionate.”

“No. It’s disgusting.” Spot pouted but made no attempt to move away from Race and instead maybe (maybe - NOT certainly) snuggled down into the warm embrace.

It was still weird having people care about him but this wasn’t that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and likes and shares and bookmarks are so much appreciated. I hope you enjoyed it  
> I'm @Withsoulsmadeofflames on Tumblr so come talk to me about literally anything


	7. Race loves his niece too much and no one tells him anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giggling, the baby reached out to tug on Spot’s hair - which was getting too long - and her eyes glittered with delight. Race laughed as Spot cradled her in his arms, holding her gently like she might break. He looked almost scared.
> 
> But despite his obvious fear and bone-deep tiredness, Spot grinned genuinely.
> 
> Race bumped their shoulders together and tapped his niece on her nose. She laughed again and Race’s smile widened. He scooped Luca from Spot’s arms and pulled her close to his chest.

Giggling, the baby reached out to tug on Spot’s hair - which was getting too long - and her eyes glittered with delight. Race laughed as Spot cradled her in his arms, holding her gently like she might break. He looked almost scared.

But despite his obvious fear and bone-deep tiredness, Spot grinned genuinely.

Race bumped their shoulders together and tapped his niece on her nose. She laughed again and Race’s smile widened. He scooped Luca from Spot’s arms and pulled her close to his chest.

Spot gazed down at the baby with a look of what might’ve been confusion but Race couldn’t be sure.

Race smiled softly, still reeling with the fact that this was  _ his sister’s  _ child. A living, breathing child.

Spot watched endearingly as Race played with her, content in the relative quiet broken only by Race and his niece’s laughter.

When she fell asleep, Race crept through the house to the crib in her room, careful not to jostle her, and tucked her into her crib. He watched his niece with a fond smile and turned to see Spot leaning in the doorway, head coked like he was trying to figure the child out but face relaxed. He looked more at peace than Race had ever seen him before.

They collapsed onto Arianna - Race’s sister’s - couch, where they were babysitting while she was out. Spot was mostly on top of him. Recently, Race’s school work had been getting busier and the group mostly met as a whole which left the two with little time on their own.

It was scarce and they flicked the TV to the documentary that Spot had been raving about for weeks, Blue Planet.

He watched the screen with awe. Race could stop staring at his face, so excited and amazed. Every now and then, when an especially interesting fact was stated or a cool fish appeared, he’d glance at Race with an expression that said  _ do you see this? _

Arianna’s apartment was nicer than both of theirs put together. She lived close, though, and so Race offered to look after his niece as often as he could manage. Spot was usually occupied with work and couldn’t join him and so this was his first time there.

He’d long since gotten over the fact that Race’s family was rich but something deep in his mind still couldn’t grasp this extent of wealth.

He’d grown up with a father who had some money but wouldn’t spend it on his kids and then, after his father was thrown in prison where he belonged, Spot had literally had nothing - he had to build himself up from the very bottom. He used to be  _ so angry _ about how little he’d had. While people lived in a luxury they did not need, he and his sister had starved.

Now, he was still angry but could mostly control it. He didn’t get in fights that land him nights in cells and fines that mean he couldn’t eat for the week anymore but he did still feel twinges of resentment when he saw Race’s car or Olivia’s thousand-dollar fashion.

Still, they sat together in luxury Spot didn’t know how to process.

Time passed, as it is wont to do, and they relished in blissful peace until the crying of a baby broke the fragile silence. Race shoved Spot, who landed on the floor with a grunt, off of him and trudged to Luca’s room. Spot followed, looking irritated. A glance at the clock told him it was past two.

The walls of the baby’s room were washed a light yellow Race pushed the curtain that was drawn over her crib away to pick her up. It had smiling suns painted on it. Race cradled Luca to his chest, hushing her soothingly. On autopilot, he fed and changed her, doing everything with a practiced ease that Spot could hardly comprehend.

Spot trailed behind, feeling useless.

Race strode back to the living room. Perched on the kitchen counter from where he’d been watching Race feed the child, Spot tilted back his head, letting his eyes close and a long breath escape him before jolting into movement and walking to the living room.

Race gazed down at his niece with a deeper love than Spot had ever known (his dad was beyond shit and his mother died in childbirth; affection had been a foreign concept to him for the first decade and a half of his life. Only his sister had stopped him from becoming a complete disaster).

Spot flopped down next to his boyfriend and niece. Race was pulling faces to make the child laugh and it was working spectacularly. Spot couldn’t help but smile at Race’s childishness.

He leant over and rested his head on Race’s shoulder and the baby’s eyes followed him, a beautiful smile covering her face. She wasn’t old enough for it to be the same smile that Race and his sister shared but, although he didn’t believe in fate, he was sure that she would inherit their grin.

The baby was quickly appeased and drifted back to sleep and once Race came back from tucking her into bed he practically fell on Spot. He tangled their legs together and was asleep within minutes. Spot soon followed, comforted by the gentle rhythm of his boyfriend’s breathing.

Spot had never woken up slowly in his life and this was no different. The click of the door opening and a murmur of whispers was enough to wake him. He kept his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep for just a few seconds before sitting up carefully as to not jostle Race, who hadn’t even stirred.

Arianna was taking off her coat to reveal a beautiful dress, smiling and chatting with her husband, Mark who was sitting at the table, tossing his shoes to land at least somewhat close to the door. For such a beautiful house, it really was messy.

His eyes met Arianna’s, who smiled wickedly and motioned for him to move away from Race, “You can be as loud as you want. He doesn’t wake up for anything.” She paused until he was a safe distance away. “Well, anything except this!”

With that, she jumped forwards and began to tickle Race. He was awake in seconds, making a sound that could only be called a squeak and kicking out towards his sister. She danced back, surprisingly nimble in her ridiculously high high-heels.

“Cazzo!” Race cursed, “Stronzo! Ugh, I hate you!”

“Aww! Is little Racetrack hurt?” She laughed and shoved him over on the couch so she could sit, ignoring his grumbling.

At her prompting, Spot and Mark joined them on the sofa that was definitely not designed for four people, though she insisted that it was fine.

They watched an old episode of Friends to pass the time. Arianna knew parts of it worryingly well and she and Race kept making comments back and forth that left them in fits of giggles and their respective partners very confused.

“Wait, Ri, is that a ring?” Race eventually asked.

She laughed, holding up her left hand. The diamonds - and Spot was sure they were real - caught the light, glinting off the swirling flower like pattern they formed. “Oh, this little thing?” Mark smiled when she glanced over at him, interlocking their hands. “Yeah, it’s nothing much. Just an engagement ring.”

Race exploded with questions, the first being “WHAT?!?!?!”

She shushed him by jabbing her elbow to his ribs. “You’ll wake Luca. I’ll tell you tomorrow; we’re going out for breakfast with Mum.”

“We are?”

Arianna shared an exasperated look with Spot. “Yeah, numbskull.”

“Even I knew this.” Spot interjected, pleased at the opportunity to tease Race.

“No-one tells me anything!” Race pouted at his boyfriend and sister ganging up on him. “Also, I hate both of you now.”

 

 

If the wedding made Spot realise one thing it was that Race looked good in a suit. Like, _ really _ good.

If the suit cost more than Spot’s life and he had a professional stylist do his hair (which Race had complained about yet Spot could tell he loved), which probably wasn’t a fair metric, Spot kept admiring how damn good his boyfriend looked.

It helped that Spot was in a good mood because he looked  _ fine as hell  _ too.

The wedding was ridiculously over the top: music, a massive cake, big white dress, crying mothers; the whole shebang.

The venue was possible the most beautiful place Spot had ever been. A church with a high ceiling and stained glass windows depicting all sorts of beautiful scenes that cast blue and red and green light on faces and the floor.

It turned out that the Higgins family was bigger than life itself, both in number and personality. They all looked stunning, Race’s older brothers wearing matching suits and his younger sister waltzing in in a dress, hand in hand with her partner who was wearing a pale pink tuxedo.

When Arianna entered, audible gasps were heard. She walked down the aisle with Olivia who was holding Luca. Her dress was fairly plain, with a full skirt and little lace but it looked beautiful. She looked beautiful.

When she reached the altar, both her and Mark were grinning like crazy and looked like they were trying to hold back both tears and laughter. Their vows were comical but sincere and by the ‘I do’s, Race had tears in his eyes.

The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of tears and speeches and dancing. As the night went on, Spot ended up spending quite a bit of time with Olivia’s partner as they also gravitated away from the dance floor.

Some time when Spot wasn’t tired but knew dawn wouldn’t be far off, Race dragged him onto the dance floor for a slow dance. They swayed in each other’s embrace, not at all awkward but still clumsy.

“Reminds me of our first date.” Race murmured by Spot’s ear, eyes bright and smiling, smiling, smiling.

Spot’s smile was so big that it hurt, “I love you.” He meant it and tried to pour all the feeling he could into the three words, barely more than a whisper.

Race’s eyes shone and he pressed his lips to Spot’s in elation. “I love you too.” He replied once they’d pulled away.

And, in that moment, Spot was so, so happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is the end  
> It isn't that long but this is probably the longest completed thing I've ever finished.  
> Thanks to my friend Jess (who needs to get an ao3 account) for proofreading because oh boy am I bad at typing good.  
> And thank you for reading! Kudos and comments and hits make my day it's crazy that 1000 people have read this - I honestly expected no one to.  
> My tumblr is @withsoulsmadeofflames come talk to me!  
> Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it


End file.
